


Coming To Terms

by dillonmania



Series: Another World [4]
Category: The Flash (Comic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Autism Spectrum, F/M, Family, Gen, Mental Health Issues, Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-22
Updated: 2012-04-29
Packaged: 2017-11-04 02:38:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/388769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dillonmania/pseuds/dillonmania
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roscoe takes a much-needed step.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hard Truths

It had been a pleasant evening, starting with dinner at an upscale restaurant in downtown Keystone and followed by a languid walk toward the river. Holding hands with Lisa and looking at the lights of Central City across the water, Roscoe couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so happy. Certainly it was before arriving in this universe, probably during an outing with the Lisa he’d known in his former world. He still missed her.

“We should go over to Central sometime soon,” this Lisa was saying. “Shoe selection is so much better over there, it’s such a pain.”  
“Uh, okay,” he agreed, although shopping was hardly his favourite activity. He’d probably end up visiting the electronics stores while she tried on clothes and yet more clothes.  
They wandered aimlessly for a bit along the river, enjoying the scenery and relative peace. Lisa liked watching the people they passed and the things they were doing, while Roscoe was often annoyed by them and would have preferred if the couple was alone. But even the garrulous teenagers didn’t bother him much tonight; he was calm and relaxed.

Eventually they found a bench overlooking the water and sat down, Lisa resting her head on his shoulder.  
“What a great night,” she sighed contentedly. “Beautiful weather, a delicious dinner, and wonderful company.”  
Roscoe smiled and put an arm around her. “I’m the luckiest man in the world.”

They sat in silence for a while, enjoying the view and each other’s company, and then he cleared his throat. He had no idea how to broach the subject on his mind, so decided to forge on ahead and hope things turned out well.  
“I was, um, wondering what you thought about marriage.”  
Lisa actually jumped when he said it, and he didn’t know if that was a good or bad sign. But her body quickly tensed, and he was fairly certain that was bad.  
“If that was out of line, then I apologize,” he said in confusion, utterly crestfallen but determined not to show it. “It was a question, not an ultimatum.”

“It’s not that,” she replied, biting her lip. Her brother’s words echoed in her head, as they had so many times since she’d started dating this Roscoe. _He needs **help** , Lisa. Professional help and medicine. If he'd get help...I'll give you away at your wedding._  
She didn’t need Len’s permission to date or marry, and would have told him where to go if he’d tried to dictate her life. But she also knew he was right. _I'm terrified that you're going to end up hurt because Roscoe won't get help_ , was what he’d said. _Dad loved us and mom too. And it never stopped him from hurting us._

Roscoe had never threatened her and she’d never been afraid of him, but she knew he had psychological problems. Her father had been an alcoholic, and though Roscoe didn’t drink much, she worried that the cycle of abuse might continue in another manner. There was no way she wanted the relationship to advance further -- let alone possibly bring children into it -- if he didn’t at least try to address his issues.

“It’s not that,” she repeated, and he looked at her curiously, with obvious hurt. “I don’t know how to say this, Roscoe. But I’m not going to marry you until you see a psychiatrist.”  
“What?” was all he could manage in response. This had come completely out of nowhere, as far as he knew. She briefly explained her reasoning, and he was utterly thunderstruck. In shock.  
“Is that what you think of me?” he asked in dismay, head in hands. They weren’t cuddling anymore. She knew she’d upset him and felt bad about it, but decided to forge on with the truth.  
“It’s what everyone thinks,” she said gently, and his entire body shuddered.  
“I should have known,” he muttered, and the despair was obvious in his voice so she hugged him.

“Roscoe, I’ve known about your problems and I’ve always loved you anyway. What does that tell you?”  
“I don’t know.”  
“It means that you’re more than your psychological issues, and we can get through this.”  
His voice was becoming increasingly quiet as his head lowered further. “ _If_ I see a psychiatrist.”  
“Yes, sweetie,” she said firmly.  
“…fine.”  
The word was barely audible, but she pulled him to her and hugged him tightly. “Thank you, sweetie, you made the right decision. I’m so happy.”

He didn’t say anything, trying as hard as he was not to lose control, not to get angry nor cry out his humiliation. Everyone thought he was crazy and would surely have a good laugh over the fearsome _Roscoe Dillon_ visiting a shrink. His pride had been damaged, and he looked weak. And on top of it all, everybody thought he was a violent nutcase who might beat the only person he’d ever loved. It was too much to endure.

“I’m sorry, I have to go home,” he finally mumbled, pulling himself away from her embrace. He was pale and sweating profusely but unaware of it, and staggered home in a daze with her. Back at their apartment, she put him to bed and stayed up all night in the living room, worrying that she hadn’t handled the situation very well.

****

The following week, Lisa held Roscoe’s hand as they approached the medical arts building downtown. He was shaking slightly, a reminder of his fear of doctors.  
“You’re doing great,” she whispered, squeezing his hand, though he didn’t smile in response. His eyes darted back and forth at his surroundings as they went through the front door, and she half-expected him to turn and run. But he kept walking, the trembling worsening as they entered the elevator and traveled to their destination. He paused outside the doctor's waiting room, swallowed uncomfortably, and stepped in when the door opened with what seemed to him like an ominous thud.

Waiting for the receptionist to call his name seemed to take an interminably long time, but he managed to stand when she did. Lisa blew a kiss as he took faltering steps towards the psychiatrist, and then suddenly he was inside the office and the door had closed behind him. Roscoe stared at the doctor with terror, but remembered Lisa was waiting for him in the other room and that he could kill this man easily. Somehow it soothed his fear a bit.

“Welcome, I’m Dr. Evans,” the psychiatrist said with a pleasant smile, and despite everything Roscoe slowly reached out to shake his hand. He had a calm, unassuming demeanor which put the patient at ease. “What brings you here today?”


	2. Making Progress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not easy to accept something you don't want to hear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Roscoe says a few offensive things, and I'm sorry about that. But that's Roscoe. Incidentally, the Mustard Seed is the local homeless shelter, and Spencer is a blatt (a sentient musical note -- gotta love the Flashverse).
> 
> This is Katzedecimal's birthday request from last year!

After an hour of pointless-seeming tests and questions at the new clinician’s office, Roscoe felt his tenuous patience running out. Experience with the psychiatrist had taught him that this doctor -- or whatever she was -- was heading in a particular direction with something, but he was not interested in finding out what it was.  
“Is there a point to all of this?” he finally interjected as she explained the setup of the current test.  
“Yes, it’s to test a concept called ‘theory of mind’,” she explained calmly, still smiling at him, but he found this offensive.  
“I have a mind, thank you very much, despite the best efforts of that charlatan quack and his drugs!”  
He was not adjusting well to his prescribed medication, which was being taken very reluctantly and solely for Lisa’s sake.

“I know you do, a very brilliant one. But that doesn’t mean it operates the same as everyone else’s.”  
“I am not like everyone else; genius never is,” he said with pride, though his face soon darkened. “The quack claims I am bipolar, so I suppose that’s yet another deviation between myself and the rest of the world. But people have always said I am different.”  
“I believe there may be a reason for that, Mr. Dillon.”  
He refused to allow medical professionals to call him by his first name, either his real one or the alias Patty Spivot had established for him, and preferred not to use the alias at all.

The clinician sought to meet his gaze, which he quickly averted once she unexpectedly made eye contact. It was a natural reaction, one he never thought about, and something she’d anticipated.  
“I believe you're on the high-functioning end of the autistic spectrum. Likely with Asperger syndrome.”  
His gaze suddenly snapped back, looking at her face but focusing on her mouth rather than her eyes.  
“That is ridiculous. Is this what you are being paid for? Utterly ridiculous.”  
“Why do you find it so hard to believe?”  
“Because the idea is ludicrous and you are a fool. What exactly do you take me for? Do I seem like Rain Man to you? I am not retarded.”  
“Of course not, I’d never suggest that. Some people with autism have intellectual disabilities, but most don’t, and you clearly don’t. It’s a neurological condition, meaning your brain is wired somewhat differently.”

He obviously wasn’t listening. “I am not mentally retarded!” he shouted furiously at her, and his eyes began to glow bright green. The table they sat at rattled ominously. “It’s enough that the quack diagnosed me as insane, but there is only so much of this I will tolerate!”  
“Calm down, Mr. Dillon,” she said firmly, but yelped in fear when two light fixtures in the room suddenly shattered in a shower of glass. It was almost a relief when he got to his feet and stalked out of the office, agitated objects returning to rest behind him.

Lisa was reading a magazine in the waiting room when the door burst open and Roscoe strode past her in a fury.  
“Hey, what’s going on?” she asked, but he kept walking and she had to run after him. “Hey! What happened?”  
“I am not going back there,” he growled. “That profession is a nest of incompetent frauds.”  
“Why, what’d she say?”  
He was still walking quickly -- at least he wasn’t spinning away at super-speed -- and she had to jog to keep up.

“She claimed that I am autistic,” he spat back, and fortunately didn’t hear her suppressing a chuckle.  
“Oh sweetie…” Lisa sighed, forcing down her smile. “Sweetie, don’t take this the wrong way, but everybody thinks so.”  
He stopped dead and turned around with a thunderous expression. “What?”  
“I mean everyone who knows you: Len, the guys, Patty, and Dr. Evans. And me. We’ve talked about it and read up on it. That’s why Dr. Evans referred you here, so you could be officially diagnosed.”  
Roscoe’s face became even more furious and she took a step backwards in alarm.  
“You have all been conspiring behind my back..?”  
“Sweetie, we worry about you. We just want you to be treated properly.”  
“Keep those damned doctors away from me!” he shouted with more than a hint of hysteria, and in an instant he was gone, having spun away too fast for her to see where he went. She was left to walk home alone.

Roscoe didn’t come home that night, and Lisa began calling around to the rest of the family to organize a search. Len convinced her to wait until morning, and Roscoe did indeed return at dawn, slightly disheveled and grim-faced. He sat sullenly on the couch while Spencer anxiously snuggled against him and a greatly relieved Lisa yelled for making her worry.  
“Where the hell have you been?” she shouted at him, ignoring the neighbours’ angry pounding on the wall.  
“Out.”  
“Out where?”  
“Downtown. I went to the Mustard Seed and talked to people.”  
Lisa shook her head in frustration. “Why on Earth would you go there?”  
“People there sometimes have interesting insights, as they have a lot of free time to think. Some of them are crazier than I allegedly am, but it also gives them a different perspective on matters. I enjoy talking to them.”

She was beginning to calm down now. “So what did they say?”  
“I talked to this one fellow about things, about what the doctors said…and what you’ve said about how everyone thinks of me. He noted that I am still the same person I was before any diagnosis, for good or for ill. That it does not change who I am, because I have always been this way.” He looked up at Lisa, forcing himself to meet her eyes before switching his gaze elsewhere again. “I suppose it comforted me somewhat.”  
“Well, I’m glad to hear it,” she said with a smile, rubbing his shoulder. “But please don’t disappear again without telling me where you are. I worry, y’know…you could have been dead.” Her unspoken fear was that he might kill himself.

“You’re right and I’m sorry,” he admitted and took her hand. “I didn’t feel up to talking with anyone I knew, but if it happens again I’ll text to let you know I am all right. Okay?”  
“Okay,” she whispered and sat down next to him, laying her head against his shoulder. “You worry me so much sometimes, but I love you. I just want you to be happy and healthy.”  
“I’m happy with you,” he told her fondly as he stroked her hand. “You’re the person who brings me the most happiness…yes, Spencer, you do too.” The blatt chirped and bounced for joy on his lap.

“Are you going to continue seeing Dr. Evans?” she asked tentatively, and he sighed.  
“Yes. I guess it would be good for me. Truthfully, I knew something was wrong, I always did. I just didn’t want to admit it,” he said quietly. “I still don’t like admitting it. I don’t want the others…or you…to see those diagnoses whenever you look at me.”  
“Remember when I said I knew about your problems and loved you anyway? I still do. You’re more than a diagnosis, Roscoe.”  
“I hope so,” he murmured almost fervently, and she could see hints of his depressive pole. _Might be worth talking to the doctor and getting his meds adjusted_ , she thought to herself. She hugged him closely for a moment, then smiled brightly to cheer him up.

“I bet you’re hungry after a night outside. Why don’t I make breakfast and then you can get some sleep? You’ll feel better after a little food and rest.”  
“Maybe,” he said, smiling a bit at her, but it was obviously strained. She patted his knee affectionately and got up to prepare some breakfast for the both of them. Hopefully the new day would bring a fresh start.


	3. Meeting Again For The First Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rogues + biological family = awkwardness.

“So what have you done recently to improve your relations with others?” Dr. Evans asked at one of Roscoe’s weekly therapy sessions. He’d been seeing the psychiatrist for a few months now, and had an ongoing project of attempting to get along better with the Rogues.  
Roscoe sighed heavily. “I went to poker night and shouted at Sam when he was snide with me. I do not know what to do next.”  
“You could apologize.”  
Another sigh. “I suppose I’ll have to.”  
“Anything else?”  
“I have an idea, but am not sure if it’s a good one. I thought about talking to my parents…well, my counterpart’s parents. I’ve never actually spoken to them, and didn’t contact my own parents for years before I left my home universe. My parents hated me, and my counterpart’s likely hated him as well…do you think it is a good idea?”  
“I think that decision has to be yours,” Dr. Evans replied diplomatically. “Only you can decide if you’re able to handle potential failure. What would you do if they refused to talk to you?”  
“…I don’t know. I would have to think about it.”

It didn’t take much detective work to discover where ‘his’ mother lived; his father had apparently died some years earlier. It was a few days before he could gather the courage to go visit, but finally he dressed up, made certain he was impeccably groomed, and stood on his mother’s doorstep with a bouquet of flowers. He shuffled nervously on the porch after ringing the doorbell, the wait seemingly lasting an eternity.

Unaware of the visitor’s identity until she opened the door, his mother immediately dropped the newspaper she was carrying.  
“Roscoe, what are you doing here? I told you never to come back!” she exclaimed while shrinking away. She tried to slam the door shut, but he held it open with a telekinetic wedge.  
“I am not your son…not exactly,” he replied, trying to remain calm and non-threatening. “He’s dead now. Please, may I come in to talk?”  
“What will you do if I say no?” she asked apprehensively, and he frowned.  
“I’ll go home. You have nothing to fear from me.”  
His mother was well aware he could push his way in if he chose, and slowly opened the door further as she watched him warily. He smiled and held out the flowers with a slightly bashful expression.  
“These are for you.”

He walked past her into the house, glancing around curiously for anything that looked familiar or indicated the presence of his counterpart. There was nothing, no photos or momentos, which was exactly what his parents’ home had been like back in his native universe. Obviously his counterpart hadn’t gotten along any better with his parents than he had.  
“Sit down in the kitchen,” his mother said as she watched him carefully. The gift of flowers surprised her; it wasn’t something her son had ever done before.

“Who are you?” she asked as he sat at the kitchen table.  
“It’s a convoluted story: I am the Roscoe Dillon from another universe. The one from this universe is dead, and for whatever reason he hasn’t returned. I, uh, am not sure if you know about our habit of resurrection.”  
“I’ve heard the rumours,” she said reluctantly. “What do you mean you’re from another universe?”  
“Well, it turns out there are many parallel universes, some very similar to and others very different from this one. We often have counterparts in each of these universes; again sometimes very much like the one you know, and sometimes quite different. Travel between these universes is occasionally possible, and I made this one my home after I was inadvertently brought here. My indigenous universe no longer exists, apparently,” he finished with sadness.  
“So you claim to be my son’s counterpart?” she asked slowly, trying to digest it all.  
“Yes. I know it sounds odd, but it’s true.”  
“Are you…are you also a criminal?”  
He looked uncomfortable. “Yes. Sort of…I’m mostly retired.”

Her face held an expression of disgust and anger he remembered well from his own mother, reminding him why he’d had no contact with his parents for years. But he’d made this much of an effort already, so there was no point in giving up just yet.  
“I am mostly retired, started therapy and taking medication, and thinking about getting a legitimate job. I’m also getting married in a few months. I know you think I am a bum and probably a monster, but making peace with you is the closest I can do with my own parents, who died along with my universe. I thought it was worth a try.”  
She didn’t say anything for a long and very awkward minute, so he slowly got up to leave until she motioned for him to stop.

“I don’t really know what to say to you. We cut our son out of our life, and didn’t want him back. I still don’t want him back…but I’m alone now, and you seem at least a little bit different. It’s just that I don’t know how much to trust you; I don’t think I can.”  
“That’s fair enough,” Roscoe said quietly as he stared intently at the table in front of him. “I probably would not trust me either. I do not trust many people, it’s something I am attempting to work on.”

“Maybe it would be good to keep some distance while getting acquainted, and decide if we want to go from there,” she suggested, and he brightened a bit. “You can send me letters if you’d like, and call occasionally.”  
“All right, and perhaps I can take you out to lunch sometime,” he replied gently as he stood up. It suddenly seemed obvious to him how small and vulnerable she was compared to his large frame. And old.  
“Maybe,” she said with a smile. “Please stay out of trouble.”  
“I’ll try,” he answered with good humour. It didn’t feel right to call her ‘Mom’, but he sort of wanted to. All he’d ever craved from his parents -- the ones in his universe -- had been love and acceptance. At least this one wasn’t overtly hostile to him.  
“I will see you around, and write you a letter soon,” he said as he let himself out of the house. “Take care.”  
“Goodbye, Roscoe,” she said softly after the front door had closed. “I missed you.”


	4. Laying It On The Table

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuing adventures in love and family awkwardness.

Rosa Dillon is the very picture of a proper older lady, the type which garners respectful looks from most passersby. She wondered, however, what those good people would say if they knew she was traveling to meet her supervillain son. Roscoe had offered to pick her up at home, but she declined after learning his car was a showy Lamborghini which she rightly suspected was stolen or bought with stolen money. No, it was better not to get involved with that, so she walked. The restaurant wasn’t far.

Roscoe was waiting for her by the patio, dressed in a suit and tie and holding another bouquet of flowers.  
“Hello,” he greeted her in a friendly tone as he held out the flowers and then paused, unsure whether he should hug her, shake her hand, or do nothing at all. After a few moments’ thought, he offered his arm instead. “Shall we go in?”  
“Let’s,” she replied as she took his elbow, and they went inside. He was accustomed to taking long brisk strides and had to slow to a shuffle to accommodate her more moderate gait.

The awkwardness began once they’d been seated and had ordered, as they then had to figure out what to say to each other.  
“The flowers are lovely,” she said appreciatively while admiring the blooms, “although I do hope you didn’t steal them.”  
It was a joke, but he looked so uncomfortable that she misinterpreted his response.  
“…you _did_ steal them.”  
“What? No. No, I bought them at the florist’s half an hour ago. I will show you the receipt,” he replied with a mixture of surprise and indignation. He couldn’t recall his mother ever making a joke before, but reminded himself that she wasn’t exactly the mother he knew. Rifling around in his pockets for the receipt, she told him it wasn’t necessary, but he insisted on showing it. His integrity had been questioned and he was offended, although then he remembered that perhaps it didn’t have a great track record.

“I have not stolen anything in six months,” he said primly, which for him was a very long time but to her sounded rather horrifying.  
“Do the police know what you’ve been doing? Are they going to arrest you?” She certainly wouldn’t be bailing him out, and was starting to regret agreeing to see him.  
“I’m sure they know, but I doubt it. They have not tried since I arrived in this universe.”  
That wasn’t strictly true, as he’d been arrested for public drunkenness and indecency in Mexico, but it was quite a while ago and not something she needed to know about. And the fake arrest to rescue Piper hadn’t been real.

“Well…that’s good,” she said with some uncertainty, and ready to change the subject. “How are your wedding plans coming along?”  
“Oh, very well,” he replied quickly, just as relieved by a new topic. “Lisa has her dress already, and chose a tuxedo for me. She said I couldn’t wear my top cufflinks, but I told her I would not wear the tux if I could not have my cufflinks, so she relented. And now she’s arguing with Hartley and James over the suit James wants to wear.”  
“I see,” Rosa said politely as she buttered bread. “Who are Hartley and James?”   
“Hartley is my best friend, and he’ll be the best man at the ceremony. James is his boyfriend.”  
“…I see,” she sputtered a bit, but to her credit recovered quickly. “I guess I’ll meet them all at the wedding.”  
He brightened. “You’re attending?”  
“I sent the RSVP last week, didn’t you get it?”  
He shook his head, but was now very excited. His mother cared enough to attend! Of course, now he would have to be on his best behaviour, but Lisa would probably skin him alive anyway if he wasn’t.  
“Everyone will be there,” he said in delight, enthused almost to the point of babbling. “Spencer will carry the rings, and all the Rogues have agreed to go, as well as Patty and the Flashes and the Harknesses.”   
It wasn’t so much that he liked all those people as that he was relieved they weren’t shunning him.

Rosa smiled at his obvious joy and thought back to her son as a child, eagerly telling her everything there was to know about tops. The man sitting across from her wasn’t him, but she could see real similarities.  
“I’m sure your father would have loved to attend,” she told him, and Roscoe frowned.  
“He hated me.”  
“He hated the Top, your criminal persona. Not _you_.”  
“I realize we’re talking about two different people here -- and I never met your husband -- but my father spent my entire life pushing me and telling me I was never good enough. That is not a sign of love.”  
She had to shake her head, because the two Roscoes sounded ever more alike.  
“All he ever intended was for you to be successful and happy. He thought you’d be happy once you’d achieved what you were meant to.”  
“He pushed me into things I never wanted. I just wanted you to love me, dammit!”  
He punctuated his words with a fist pounding on the table, causing a drink to tip over and his mother to shrink back in alarm, afraid of what he was going to do next. Her fear startled him.

“I’m…sorry. I am still working on controlling my temper,” he said quietly, and began to mop up the spilled water. “This has always been a sore spot for me, but you didn’t cause it; my parents did.”  
“Well, it’d be a lie if I claimed my son didn’t say something similar,” Rosa admitted. “We did love him, but it wasn’t easy. He was such an odd little boy and a difficult man. But he was my son and I missed him, which is why I agreed to continue contact with you. And I actually like you.”  
“I like you too,” he said in a low voice as he looked down at his lap and fidgeted. He hadn’t made much eye contact with her during the entire outing, though that was his habit and something she remembered from her own son. She’d always attributed it to evasiveness and dishonesty, but he’d explained the Asperger’s diagnosis in one of his letters a few weeks earlier.

“May I ask a favour?” he said hesitantly, biting his lip, and she nodded. “Tell me if it is too forward. Do you mind if I call you ‘Mom’?”  
He flushed and looked anxious, half-expecting her to laugh at him. _You’re a foolish child_ was something his mother had chided him with on more than a few occasions in his youth, and this woman wasn’t actually his mother. But she smiled.  
“I don’t see why not.”  
His grin was immediate and absolutely infectious. “Great. Thank you.”  
“I think we both have something to be happy about. In a way, I’ve got my son back and you have a mother. I just hope you’re going to stay out of trouble,” she told him with a pained expression. “ _Please_ don’t make the police come calling, or appear on the TV news, or in the newspaper, or any of those things. My son did that and it was tremendously humiliating. The neighbours never let us forget it, and mostly stopped talking to us, even now.”

Roscoe had the good sense to look embarrassed. “Well…I will try not to.” He was now quite aware that the other Rogues considered him mentally unstable, and taking medication was no guarantee he wouldn’t have future episodes. “Lisa will probably keep a tight rein on me once we’re married.”  
“Are you going to bring her to meet me before the wedding? I’d like to congratulate the woman who could make you honest!” she said in a teasing tone, and he smiled.  
“Certainly, any time you would like. I was thinking of taking you out for Mother’s Day, or she and I can come by another time.”  
“Maybe bring her along another day,” Rosa suggested. “I think I’d like a Mother’s Day dinner with just the two of us.”  
“Of course,” he said indulgently, beaming brightly at her as he paid the bill. “And I’ll bring Spencer with us; you’ll love him.”

With lunch finished and the bill paid, they headed outside.  
“Would you like a ride home?” he asked, and she shook her head.  
“No dear, I’m fine. Your car is probably too flashy for me,” she replied politely, and seemed puzzled by his wry grin.  
“You said ‘too flashy’…ah, forget it. Let me walk you home, Mom, to make sure you get there safely.”  
He offered his arm again, which she accepted with a smile, and they walked off together.


End file.
